


Facades and Distractions

by pretzelduck



Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: M/M, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-20
Updated: 2013-01-19
Packaged: 2017-11-26 03:27:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 19,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/646054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pretzelduck/pseuds/pretzelduck
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A quiet night leads to revelations between Archer and Reed.  Revelations that turn into something more.  Something, perhaps, rather permanent.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Water Polo and Ulysses

**Author's Note:**

> AN: Originally written in Fall/Winter 2002. Posted now for archive purposes.  
> AN2: One of the first pieces I ever wrote. :)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> During a quiet night, Malcolm reflects on his seemingly hopeless feelings for his captain, only to find himself pleasantly surprised.

It wasn't supposed to happen.  In the life tradition had laid out for me, this definitely wasn't part of the plan.  I had already left that path when I joined Starfleet instead of the Royal Navy.  But in my father's eye, I believe this would be a far worse transgression.  A Reed man is supposed to be a model officer, maintaining at all times proper decorum and behavior.  Your feelings and desires are insignificant.  All that matters is that façade.  But as I was reminded many times in my youth, I have never acted like a proper Reed.  Now my heart has betrayed me.  For so many years I was able to ignore it.  I unhappily dated women that my parents and peers would approve of and forced myself to think that it was their fault I wasn't attracted to them.  And for a while there, I seemed to have everything straightened out.  Despite walking away from my family and its traditions, I was still very much a Reed.

 

Then, Jonathan Archer entered my strict, organized, and empty existence.  And for the first time in a long while, I couldn't ignore my heart.  As the days passed on Enterprise, his image began creeping into my thoughts at the most inopportune times.  It all started with him commenting that I'd make a good two-meter man.  My long-deprived heart refused to brush off the comment and instead seized it as proof that there was hope for me yet.  From that moment on, I became increasingly aware of my fondness for my captain.

 

Fondness, not attraction.  Classifying it as attraction took a little more effort and a little more time.  It meant dismantling another piece of the Reed façade.  But that piece wasn't destroyed by pressure, time, or sheer will.  It was destroyed by a Novan bullet.  The incident at Terra Nova was an embarrassment.  It was the first time I let my feelings get in the way of my duty.  I, Malcolm Reed, was distracted by being so close to Captain Archer.  That mere distraction was my first failure.  The next came with that bloody bullet.  I am a trained and capable armory officer.  But I still managed to get myself shot, leaving my captain unprotected.  That was my second failure.  I failed in my duty.  I was so relieved when he made it off that horrible planet.  I am expendable; he is not.  There was no reason that he should pay for my distraction.  But the longer I stayed in that cave, the less relieved I felt.  My mind wouldn't calm.  I began to wonder if he would really leave me behind.  Then, almost like out of a fog, he appeared beside me.  I've never been a person of deep faith but as my body warmed at his light touch and I saw the concern and worry etched into his beautiful face, I knew I would never lose faith in him again.  And at that instant, I also knew I was attracted to him.

 

From that moment, my faith in him has never wavered but there have been times I doubted his faith in me.  Right before my birthday, the Enterprise was attacked by a dangerous and mysterious enemy.  The captain made the decision to return to Earth in order to have the engineers at Jupiter Station install the phase cannons.  Commander Tucker and I convinced him to let us start the work and our teams finished the two forward cannons in a record two days.  As we all worked non-stop, a voice in the back of my mind kept telling me that we were going back because he didn't trust me.  That the man I care about didn't believe in me.  The voice was eventually quieted but this time it wasn't by focused discipline or by the back of my father's hand.  It was by a cake.  A pineapple birthday cake.  Asking for special favors or treatment was something that my father didn't approve of and I learned that lesson quickly.  But there it was.  A cake made from my favorite food.  I was so astonished by that cake.  It made my body tingly all over to think that somebody cared about me.  Cared enough to remember my birthday and cared enough to somehow figure out what I like to eat.  It's too much for me to think that it was all his idea.  But I want it to be…That cake destroyed another piece of the Reed façade.  The piece of unattachment.

 

I tried to explain that to Commander Tucker in a way when we were on that bloody shuttlepod.  That whole experience was a test of my upbringing.  When we saw debris from Enterprise on the asteroid, I felt as if the universe had collapsed in on me.  My home was gone.  I thought everyone I had come to care for was dead.  My reserve almost failed me.  Then came the bourbon.  Alcohol usually loosens lips but in my case, it makes me all the more focused on the persona that I was taught to fill.  I don't know why I mentioned the subcommander.  Anything to reaffirm that even when facing death, I was still a proper Reed.  Anything to distract me from the fact that I would never have the simple pleasure of seeing Jonathan Archer again.  Things happened in a blur after that.  Hearing Hoshi's voice on the com, detonating the pod's impulse drive, the commander's stunt with the airlock.

 

When I awoke in sickbay, my first thought was that I was dreaming again.  But he was there.  His hand was on my shoulder and he called me Malcolm.  I keep each time he calls me by my first name close to my heart.  I love the sound of it.  There is something to be said for a North American accent.  The sight of him, the sound of his voice, and the touch of his hand.  They all conspired against me and I could feel my reserve break into a thousand pieces as I haltingly tried to tell him that we thought Enterprise had been destroyed.  I was so embarrassed and flustered by this failure of the Reed façade piece of composure that I almost missed the look in his eyes and the softness in his voice when he told me that he tell me about it in the morning.  Almost. 

 

So many parts of who I was raised to be have changed since I came aboard the Enterprise.  But I don't know if I'm ready to let anyone else any closer yet.  Take my attraction to Captain Archer.  I know it goes beyond mere physical attraction.  In the darkness of my quarters, in the stillness of night, I let myself ponder the possibility that I could be in love with him.  His very presence makes me want to smile.  But what are the chances that my interest is returned?  I can't dwell on this train of thought.  I usually keep a tight rein of my feelings but apparently not tonight.  One can't show feeling that one isn't supposed to have.  Another piece of the Reed façade. 

 

Beep, beep.

 

"Computer, stop recording."  I pick up a PADD off my desk so it doesn't look like I've been spilling my guts to a computer.  Quickly straightening my uniform, I go and let in my unexpected visitor. 

 

"Evening, Malcolm."  Of all the people on this ship to show up at my door at this exact moment, it has to be Captain Archer.  His gorgeous eyes are smiling at me and he's out of uniform, wearing a pair of black pants and a form-fitting denim blue shirt.  It shows off every muscle off his finely toned physique.  And he's standing in my doorway.

 

"Is there something you needed, sir?"  I watch his eyes go dark for a moment before they dart to the PADD in my hand.  The corners of his mouth turn up into a smile.  I sneak a glance at what I grabbed in my hurry.  Bloody hell.  Anything but that. 

 

"The Basics of Water Polo?" 

 

"Yes, sir.  It's my job to be prepared for anything." He takes two steps towards me and into my spartan quarters.  I take a few steps backward and the door to my quarters closes behind him.  Taking a look around, he sits down on the edge of my bed and looks up at me.  I'm focusing on standing at attention; something which has never been this difficult before. 

 

"You're not the only Eagle Scout, you know."  The comment makes me smile involuntarily.  It makes me a little braver.  One would think that as an armory officer I wouldn't be afraid of anything.  But Jonathan Archer in my quarters causes my stomach to rise up into my throat.

 

"I'm well aware of that, sir.  However, I do recall that I have more merit badges than you, sir."

 

"We're both off-duty, Malcolm.  You can call me Jonathan or Jon."  This wasn't supposed to happen either.  

 

"That would be inappropriate, sir."

 

I can't understand what he says next.  He mumbles something under his breath and holds up a PADD for me to see.  It only takes me a second to realize what it is.

 

"Ulysses, sir?" 

 

"Trip told me that you were reading on the shuttlepod.  Thought I might give it a try."

 

There comes a time when you have to fight or run.  As the ship's defender, it isn't in me to run.  I sit down next to him on the bed.  Holding up the PADD on water polo, I decide to fight.  "Well, I hope you're having an easier time than I am.  How on Earth do you play this game?  It doesn't make any bloody sense, Jon."

 

The look on his face as I said his name warms my whole body.  I'm certain my cheeks have taken a rosy pallor and that he can tell my hands are shaking.  He starts to laugh and can't help but join in.  It's been a long time since I simply relaxed and laughed.  It feels good.  Especially with the captain…Jon.  I can't forget to call him Jon.  It will take some getting used to.  But I'm willing to try.  It's far better than spilling my guts to a computer. 

 

"Perhaps we'll have to work together.  I'll help you understand water polo and you help me get through a sentence of Ulysses."

 

If the look on his face had an effect on me before, the warmth and caring in his eyes now is melting me into a puddle.  I can feel it now.  Jonathan Archer is going to take another chunk out of the Reed façade.  But I'm not thinking about that right now.  Jon has taken my free hand in his.  I glance down at our hands and watch as he starts to pull his hand away.  Wrapping my fingers around his hand, I look back up at him. 

 

"Sounds good to me."


	2. Questions and Answers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Questions that need to be answered cause uncertainly and confusion for Jon and Malcolm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Switches to Archer POV here

It reminds me of a dream I have pretty often.  Everything around me is shrouded by darkness.  Loneliness, really.  I can't even see myself.  It suffocates me as I try to fight off the horrible feeling of dread.  But then, I'm saved.  A voice softly calls my name.  I'm surrounded by its echoing sound.  This is the point when I usually wake up.  In my quarters with my body lightly covered in sweat and achingly alone.  But not this time.  The beautiful voice is so real this time.  As if my savior is actually calling my name.  But that won't happen.  It can't happen.  So I decide to open my eyes prepared to confront the stark emptiness of my quarters.  I'm greeted by a completely unexpected sight.

 

Malcolm?  His extraordinary grayish-blue eyes are watching me with concern and nervousness brimming in them.  But it strikes me.  I came to his quarters with a copy of Ulysses in my hand.  I don't know what I expected to happen.  It was a moment of weakness.  All I wanted was one smile, a barely restrained laugh, something…anything to fight the darkness with.  I almost chickened out when he answered the door with a distant and formal, "Is there something you needed, sir?"  I could think of a lot of different and interesting responses to that question so my eyes darted around until they landed on something promising.  Malcolm had answered his door with a PADD on the basics of water polo in his hand.  I'm pretty sure I didn't expect that.

 

"Jon?...Sir?"

 

Great.  He's back to calling me sir.  I think I could have died a happy man when he called me Jon the first time.  I wonder what it would sound like if he said while we were making love.  I need to focus.  There's no reason to daydream.  Malcolm is sitting right beside me.  "I'm sorry, Malcolm.  I think I spaced out there for a minute."

 

The corners of his mouth turn up in little grin.  The image of Porthos after he's snuck another piece of cheese pops up in my head.  What is he smiling about?

 

"Actually, you fell asleep."  Of all the stupid and embarrassing things I could have done, I think that tops the list.  Days of staring at him out of the corner of my eye hoping to catch him looking back.  Nights of wishing he was curled up beside me.  And I fall asleep.  What could have possibly caused me to doze off?  Then, it hits me.  Malcolm had suggested that Ulysses was understood better if it was read aloud.  So we had moved so we were sitting up against the pillows on his meticulously made bed and Malcolm began to read.  I had drifted off listening to that caressing accent.  I don't know whether to damn Joyce or to dig him up out of his grave and kiss him.

 

"Had nothing to do with the company, I assure you.  Please tell me I wasn't out too long. " 

 

I watch curiously as a blush works its way up Malcolm's neck and lightly covers his cheeks.  He suddenly develops an aversion to looking at me as the next words out of his mouth go straight to my heart.

 

"Only a few minutes.  I…I was…I was watching you sleep."

 

That explained the nervousness in his eyes.  With the exception of my father, I can't remember anyone ever watching me sleep.  The mere thought of Malcolm's gray eyes watching me, even for only a few minutes, is enough to arouse me.  Things are going to have to move very slowly.  There were hurdles to overcome yet.  But that, of course, doesn't seem to stop my body from adding its opinion on the matter.  Malcolm keeps himself hidden by this imaginary wall of distance and formality.  But the real him sneaks out sometimes.  Little bits of his sense of humor.  The passion he likes everyone to think only revolves around causing massive explosions.  But since I've walked into his quarters this night, I've seen more of Malcolm than ever before.  It's as if he's made a decision to leave Lieutenant Reed at the door.  But I still don't what he thinks of all this.  He called me Jon and held my hand but I need to know where we stand.  Or where I stand with him. 

 

"Malcolm…I need to know.  What do you want?"

 

He's my armory officer.  So one would think that I would expect Malcolm to be able to move quickly.  But not as quickly as he's dropped my hand, jumped off the bed, and assumed the rigid posture of a well-trained soldier.  Damn.  Lieutenant Reed is back.  I moved too fast.  How can I make him understand?  I swing my legs around so once again I'm sitting on the edge of his bed with my head down and he's standing at attention before me.  Somehow I doubt that history will repeat itself this time and he'll sit beside me and we'll share a laugh.  I can't look at him.  I don't think I could handle seeing raging emotions in those eyes of his.  Or no emotion at all.

 

"I'm sorry, sir.  I will gladly accept any reprimand you see fit, sir."

 

Reprimand?  I'm the one who approached him.  The apology should be mine.  Why does Malcolm think I'm upset with him?  Probably because I haven't explained myself yet.  Slowly, I lift my head and sweep my eyes up Malcolm's gorgeously lean body to reach his eyes.  They're filled with anguish and hurt.  He's trying to hide it but it's there.  And I caused it.  I stand up and take a step forward so I'm standing in front of him but not too close.  I can't scare him off now.  This is the moment.  The wrong words here and I'll lose him forever.  All I'll have is my dream Malcolm and the haunting memory of a disaster that could have been something greater. 

 

"I want to know you, Malcolm.  I want to know what makes your face light up in a giant smile.  And what makes you laugh so hard that your ribs ache.  I care about you more than I should.  And I had to ask because I'm the one that came here.  It can't work like that.  There are regulations against it.  I have to know where you stand.  I dream about you.  I dream about you wanting me.  I don't want to pressure you and I'm not.  Please…"  My throat's dry.  I don't know what else to say.  I've placed my heart in the guillotine.  I can't look at him any more.  The whispered words escape my lips before I can stop them.  "Please, Malcolm…I need to know…"

 

Out of nowhere, there is a hand gently stroking my cheek.  It's featherlight and tentative and uncertain and the most beautiful sensation in the universe.  I raise my eyes once more and find Malcolm in front of me.  The tenderness in his gaze makes my heart skip a beat.  If this was the Malcolm Reed I first met when recruiting for the Enterprise, I would have had serious doubts about his ability to kill a spider let alone another person. 

 

"I never imagined…I always thought…"  The affection in his eyes becomes swirled with frustration and torment as he struggles to find the words.  I want to pull him close and hold him like I do in my dreams.  But I can't yet.  I've gone too far as it is.  I know he can do it.  Don't give up, Malcolm.

 

I watch as he closes his eyes and I can see the pain on the rest of his face.  It's as if the weight of the world is on his shoulders.  Damn it.  I've pushed him too far, too fast.  It's like walking a mine field.  I feel the corners of my mouth turn up in a little smile.  Mine fields make me think of weapons which lead my thoughts to the agonizing armory officer before me.  And I can't stop the smile.  It kills me to know that I've caused all this pain for him.  Just because I selfishly wanted to see him.  Just because I had to ask him that stupid question.  It's time for me to go.  It will be awkward and uncomfortable but I can't bear to hurt him anymore.  My weight shifts slightly as I start to leave but Malcolm stops me.

 

The hand that only moments before was cautiously caressing my cheek is now completely lying against it.  The world seems to stop as he leans forward and brushes his lips against mine.  It didn't even last a millisecond but my whole body feels like it's on fire and I desperately want to grab him and assault that teasing mouth with kisses of my own.  I focus my attention on the amazing sensation of Malcolm's thumb gently stroking my cheek.  I meet his gaze and the passion in Malcolm's eyes bowls me over.  The tenderness is still there but I think I like the look of desire in those dark eyes much better.

 

"I didn't know what to say."

 

"I think you said it just fine, Malcolm.  I'm pretty sure I know where you stand."  And I am.  I know he wants me.  The evidence is right in front of me.  But I don't know why.  I really don't want to question lady luck but I have to.  There is so much I don't know.  The question slips out of my mouth before I realize what I've said.  "Why?"

 

A questioning look passes across his face and I watch as it leaves quickly and a knowing smile takes up residence on Malcolm's face.  "You have an uncanny ability to destroy pieces of the façade."

 

He laughs at his own cryptic answer and I know someday he'll explain it.  But that's obviously not tonight.  And for once, I don't really feel like asking any more questions. 


	3. Stolen Moments

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Misunderstandings and interruptions abound as Jon and Malcolm attempt the dating thing for the first time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Third-Person POV here

Time had stopped.  He was sure of it.  Or at least had slowed to the pace of a dying snail just to infuriate him.  He'd sat through an eventless shift before but this was the worst one ever.  At least Malcolm had left.  His infuriatingly close presence had set his skin on fire with aching wanting.  But a problem with the phase cannons had sent Malcolm to the Armory about twenty minutes ago.  A very long twenty minutes.  The distraction was one thing.  Finding that he missed the feeling of having the man he wanted and that he knew wanted him close by was something completely different. Jon wasn't quite sure which feeling was worse.  Smiling as he remembered Malcolm's constant fidgeting in his seat before he left, Jon tried to concentrate on the task at hand.  And failed.  He had asked Malcolm to join him for an early dinner an hour after their shifts ended.  No Trip or T'Pol.  Just the two of them.  Alone.

 

Four days had passed since that near disastrous turned glorious meeting in Malcolm's quarters.  They had made plans to meet the following morning for breakfast.  But that had been quite rudely interrupted by a pair of antagonizing hostile alien vessels that had caused extensive damage to various systems.  Both he and Malcolm had been running around trying to get the Enterprise back into shape after the encounter and hadn't had a moment alone in private since. Of course, there were the times that he had passed Malcolm in the hallway and been greeted with his seemingly Malcolm-like response of "Hello, sir" only to be blown away by the soft, gentle smile on his face that Jon knew disappeared as soon as they parted.  Times like those had been too few and too far between for his sanity. 

 

So he was pleasantly surprised to find himself in the same lift as Malcolm this morning.  A minute by themselves in close proximity had been awkward for a heartbeat but quickly turned comfortable.  Jon had brought up the idea of dinner and the instant before the doors opened to the bridge Malcolm had turned to face him. With what Jon hoped was a smile meant only for him to see, he simply stated that he'd love to before stepping aside in perfect timing with the opening of the doors.  Forcing the lopsided, boyish grin off his face had taken quite an effort, but he'd managed to look semi-captain like when he walked on to the bridge.

 

But now he was tired of waiting.  Unlike Malcolm, his duties kept him on the bridge and he was getting anxious and nervous just sitting there.  However, it helped relax him knowing that the ship was in good hands and it was all right for his brain to wander a bit.  The problem with that freedom was his thoughts had drifted into tricky territory.  One of the biggest stumbling blocks was the fact that it was his job to sit in this chair.  In their one tense interlude, Jon was fairly certain that he and Malcolm had worked out the problem of him, the superior officer, approaching one of his subordinates, in a romantic fashion.  But the obstacle remained of how to deal with Malcolm being under his command.   In the very core of his being, Jon knew that a chance at a relationship with Malcolm was worth all the problems and uncertainity.  But first, he and Malcolm actually had to speak again.  Forcing himself onto a different train of thought, Jon looked intently at the view screen hoping for something to investigate or for an excuse to escape to his ready room. Eventually, a twisted thought popped into his brain and another smile lit up his face as Jon found himself hoping that Malcolm was having as difficult of a shift as he was.

 

_Meanwhile…_

 

'One hour, fifteen minutes, twenty-seven seconds…One hour, fifteen minutes, twenty-six seconds…'

 

"Lieutenant Reed?"

 

'One hour, fifteen minutes, twenty-five…Bloody hell.'  A dark-haired figure crawled out from underneath a console and stared at the questioning crewman.  "Do you have something to report, Weber?"

 

The unfortunate and unsuspecting Crewman Weber nodded carefully before giving her senior officer the update from Engineering on that side of the problem.  Rumor had it that something else besides the malfunctioning phase cannons was bothering the Enterprise's armory officer and making him sterner and more exacting than usual.  She'd almost made it the entire way through the report without an irritated outburst from Lieutenant Reed when she mentioned that the estimate was about two more hours until the diagnostic of the cannons was finished.

 

"Two hours is unacceptable.  The diagnostic will be finished by the end of this shift.  No later.  Dismissed."

 

After a long visual sweep of the armory, Malcolm crawled back under the console that controlled the targeting of what he called the bloody phase cannons.  His instinct told him that his people knew something was bothering him but he tried to dismiss it.  The one thing he couldn't think about was the reason two hours was intolerable because the thought of dinner with Jon distracted him.  Badly.  And he would start to count off the time until the end of the shift.

 

'One hour, fourteen minutes, seven seconds…One hour, fourteen minutes, six seconds…One hour…Bloody hell.'

 

He'd spent months wondering about and wanting Jonathan Archer.  It would be reasonable to think that he could wait about two hours to see him alone.  But reasonable had gone out the window with Jon's confession of four nights ago. 

 

" _I want to know you, Malcolm…I care about you more than I should_... _I dream about you.  I dream about you wanting me_ …"

 

All those almost unbearable lonely nights dreaming about the man and he'd been dreaming about him.  Malcolm regarded it as rather extraordinary and very, very precious.  After the first bit of amazement had worn off, his oldest and most lethal enemy had come tiptoeing in to torment him.  Self-doubt.  After Jon had left that night, it had managed to work its way into his newfound sense of peaceful serenity and forced him to painfully examine everything that had happened.  Malcolm had spent enough time turning inside out his feelings for the captain and was convinced that they weren't part of some warped misguided search for a father figure.  Instead, he started to doubt himself.  And what he could possibly bring to the table as a partner.  Expressing himself and what he was feeling didn't come naturally to him.  This particular flaw was something he had long since chalked up in the "isn't going to change" category and had accepted as part of who he was back before he had even finished his schooling.  But he knew it was important to do if any relationship was to work.

 

 Jon deserved someone who knew how to be open and knew how to really trust another person.  Malcolm trusted the people he worked with and the rest of the crew of the Enterprise to do their jobs well and perform above the call of duty.  But the trust between partners was of a different kind – an intimate kind.  Subsequently, he had spent the last few nights wondering and searching instead of sleeping like he should've been.  Was the ability to trust like that truly in him?  Or had it been driven away by too many years of detachment and too much reserve?  The only answer Malcolm had been able to come up with was that if there was anything that would make him try, it was a chance at a real relationship with Jon. 

 

For a long time, that had been his ultimate fantasy.  Someone to come home to.  Then, Malcolm had met Jonathan Archer and watched, almost like an out-of-body experience, as the man singlehandedly managed to evoke resentment, profound gratitude, sorrow, pure joy and jealousy and have him actually show it.  Not that it was all that noticeable to anyone but him and possibly his sister.  Nonetheless, it was there.  Emotion from the aloof and reticent Malcolm Reed who had been taught since he was hardly old enough to walk that feeling and emotions were for the weak.  And a Reed was anything but weak.  But slowly, snippets of what he felt about things that weren't important to his duty began to leak out.  And more unexpectedly and just as slowly, the faceless man in his dreams, the one he could come home to, became his captain.  

 

A part – the first part – of his fantasy was upon him.  He was having dinner alone with Jon.  Just like a real date.  Actually, it was a date.  In every sense of the word.  It was enough to make him more nervous than he could ever remember being.  Making it worse was the self-doubt.  It was in the back of his mind.  Taunting him.  Daring him to back out.  Telling him that there was some other reason for the dinner.  Reminding him that he'd never been close to anyone.  Teasing him with the thought that it was a game or a dream.  Malcolm held on to that last part.  A dream.  It was a dream.  A dream that miraculously turned out to be a reality.  A reality in which Jon wanted him.  The proof was in Jon's eyes as they held hands and in his achingly raw words as Jon tried to tell him how he felt.  It had been there as Jon had drifted off and Malcolm had watched him sleep without a hint of stress or worry on his handsome face.  He had been comfortable enough sitting beside him to relax that much.  With the image of a sleeping Jon steadfast in his mind, Malcolm continued his work on the phase cannons and to count down the time until the end of the shift.

 

_Two hours, twenty-six minutes, and forty seconds later…_

 

He was twelve minutes late.  If there had been a serious problem in the armory or with the phase cannons, Jon knew he would have been notified.  So where was Malcolm?  His strict formality included a predictable punctuality.  Since his mind had excluded the possibilities of a duty-related problem and Malcolm being late, it decided to settle on a gloomy thought.  What if Malcolm had changed his mind?  Or decided that it wasn't worth it? 

 

Jon could feel the lump rise up in his throat.  After walking through the first piece of an emotional mine field with him and then waiting four endless days, Malcolm wasn't going to show.  His mind was filled with unanswerable questions, disappointment, and regret.  What had made things change?  Why hadn't Malcolm even spoken to him?  Even if he just took into account his dealings with him on a professional level, Malcolm didn't seem the type to lose his nerve like that.  Jon was fairly certain that he would at least tell him.  Sitting at the table, obviously set for two with a pair of covered dinner plates, definitely wasn't helping.  He found himself staring at the place where Malcolm was supposed to be sitting and trying to imagine the quiet Englishman smiling across the table at him.  Or imagine the look of surprise and pleasure when he lifted the lid to reveal a plate of pineapple-marinated chicken.  Or imagine hearing him laugh without restraint or uneasiness at a silly joke.  But it wasn't going to happen.  Malcolm was now fifteen minutes late.

 

Standing up, Jon walked over to the window and looked out at the stars.  They had also been his dream.  A dream he had gained from his father and carried alone now.  It's not like he didn't have any friends.  But friendship alone wasn't enough.  What he wanted was someone to hold in the middle of the night.  Someone that knew what he was thinking without having to ask.  Someone who's lightest touch made the universe make sense again.  Relationships hadn't been something that he had ever been very good at making work.  It always seemed that something was missing.  A connection of some kind. 

 

Then, Jon had been putting together the crew for the Enterprise and been brought to Jupiter Station by Admiral Forrest to meet with a Lieutenant Reed for the position of armory officer.  The lieutenant had been practicing hand-to-hand combat with several of the station's other crewmembers so Jon, rather than interrupting, had leaned up against a wall and watched the smaller man move with a graceful confidence that both aroused and impressed him.  After helping a crewman up, he had spotted him against the wall and watched as the man looked him over, assessing the unexpected visitor with a practiced glance.  But when their eyes met, Jon had had to remind himself to breathe.  He found himself looking into a pair of grayish-blue eyes that seemed as if they were looking into his very soul.  Lieutenant Reed, after what seemed like minutes, had acknowledged him with a slight nod of his head before returning to what appeared to be a self-defense lesson he was teaching. 

 

Since that moment, Malcolm Reed had become like an itch that he couldn't scratch.  Everything in him told Jon that he found what had been missing.  He had found his connection.  From then on, Jon had tried to understand Malcolm.  More than one bridge shift had been spent glancing at the tactical station trying to gain the smallest insight into the handsome man that worked there.  All the while, he had looked for something…anything that might imply his interest was shared. When Malcolm had been taken hostage by the Novans, Jon had felt something between them.  A silent understanding.  All it had taken was a quick look back at Malcolm and he knew that they were both on the same wavelength and that Malcolm understood what he was trying to do. A little while later, he had noticed that Malcolm's birthday was approaching.  Realizing that the rest of the senior staff probably wouldn't notice and that Malcolm was likely to let it pass without note, Jon had sent Hoshi on a scavenger hunt of sorts to track down what his favorite food was.  He had desperately wanted to do it himself but that would have been too obvious and awkward so he had settled for unsuspecting Hoshi's second-hand account of what the various members of Malcolm's family had said about him.  A handful of little insights to add to his collection.  But the largest insight came when they had presented Malcolm with the pineapple-flavored cake.  The look of uncontainable surprise and wonder on his face had given Jon the sneaking suspicion that no one had ever given Malcolm a birthday cake.  Or had made a deal out of his birthday.  Or even remembered it. 

 

Then there had been when Malcolm and Trip had been trapped on the shuttlepod.  After they had finally recovered the pair and Malcolm had awoken in sickbay, the wall that Malcolm had built around himself crumbled as he tried to explain about what had happened and the debris that they had seen on an asteroid.  Until that incident, Jon had thought that nothing was harder than leaving Malcolm behind on Terra Nova.  But then, as Malcolm's grayish eyes filled with unshed tears, all he wanted to do was hold the tormented man and tell him it was all right to cry.  Reassure him that he and the crew were alive and well.  After that, Malcolm had pretended that his breakdown hadn't even occurred.  It was as if it was too difficult for him to remember that the wall had failed.  A wall that had protected Malcolm and that had been created for a reason or many reasons.  What piece of that wall had made Malcolm decide that they were too big of a risk?  Jon doubted that he would ever really know.  Malcolm was now eighteen minutes late.

 

_Meanwhile…_

 

It wasn't doubt or indecision or a piece of the Reed façade that was keeping Malcolm from making his date with Jon.  It was a bloody yank.  A yank named Charles Tucker the III, to be exact.  The diagnostic hadn't been finished by the end of the shift but instead, like Crewman Weber had warned him, forty-five minutes after it.  That was bad enough but still gave him plenty of time to change into something informal, shave, and go to dinner.  Then, the Enterprise's resident jovial Southerner had strode into the armory taking several of Malcolm's crewmen with him back to Engineering, leaving Malcolm to stay for over twenty minutes to finish up a couple tasks.  But that still would have given him time to change out of his uniform and run to dinner, so he couldn't be too upset.  That was until his hand was reaching up to open the door to the corridor when the commander once again came back through it.  

 

So now, here he was.  Listening to Commander Tucker discuss an upgrade to the phase cannons.  For the first time in his career, Malcolm didn't really care about a better way to make something explode.  As the commander talked, he simply nodded his head occasionally and made some sound along the lines of "oh" or "yeah" all the while hoping that the commander would hurry up.  After all the waiting, the time was finally near.  A date with Jon.  And the bloody yank wouldn't shut up.

 

"And then we could link the cannons to the…Malcolm?  You payin' any attention to this?"

 

Malcolm's face flushed, his body went rigid with perfect posture, and his eyes met those of the engineer.  He should have figured Tucker would notice that he wasn't listening very closely eventually.  "Of course I am, sir."

 

Trip stared back at Malcolm trying to read the man.  It was a task he often decided was impossible.  But this time the emotion was close to the surface.  The Brit looked…irritated.  By God, the man didn't want to be standing here listening to him.  The Enterprise's trigger happy armory officer didn't care about any phase cannon upgrade.  He wanted to be out of the armory and on his way.  If he didn't know better, Trip would say Malcolm had a date.  But that was pretty unlikely…wasn't it?  "You got a date, Lieutenant?"

 

To his utter surprise and twisted delight, Malcolm turned an even darker shade of red and even looked flustered.  Malcolm Reed did indeed have a date.  Wahoo…this was certainly gonna grease the Enterprise's gossip wheels.  However, as he stood watching the rarely unsettled Malcolm, Trip remembered what he had told him on the shuttlepod.  Malcolm had said he had a problem getting close to people.  If he was trying now, Trip wasn't going to make it any harder by spreading rumors.  Without waiting for an answer from Malcolm, Trip stepped aside from the doors and pressed the button to open them.  "Give yur date my apologies, Malcolm."

 

Malcolm walked through the doors and was in the corridor before he turned back around to Trip.  "I hope I can, Commander."  As soon as the doors shut, Malcolm broke from another part of his formality and took off running at full speed for the nearest lift. 

 

Trip stood staring at the closed doors, wondering about Malcolm's parting comment.  Was Malcolm worried that his date wouldn't go out with him if he was a few minutes late?  Maybe but he wasn't going to ask.  Nor was he going to bring it up.  The least he could do was give Malcolm a little bit of privacy.  However, what he really wanted to do was mention it to Jon.  Ever since he had first met the lieutenant, Jon had continually brought him up.  One time, Trip had eaten breakfast with Malcolm and casually told him about it, only to find himself interrogated on everything that Malcolm had said and eaten.  He had known Jon a lot of years and seen him in and out of relationships with various men.  But never with any of those partners had Jon been this far gone.  Never had he ever looked at them the way he would longingly watch Malcolm whenever he could.  The look in his eyes said "I need him to need me."  It would crush Jon to know that Malcolm was going on a date.  Jon so much wanted to be the person to break through that shell of Malcolm's. 

 

Remembering that Jon had said he wanted to have dinner alone tonight, Trip headed for the captain's private dining room.  He might not want to tell Jon about Malcolm's date but he could definitely tell him about his bizarre reaction to the phase cannon upgrade and lack of interest in something weapons-oriented.  Trip would just have to keep the reason to himself.

 

A minute or so later, Trip walked into the dining room and found himself looking at an unusual sight.  First of all, Jon was staring out the window and hadn't even appeared to notice his entrance.  Second, the table was set for two.  Not one but two.  Jon hadn't wanted to eat alone.  He had expected company.  But who?

 

"What's the matter, Cap'n?  Did T'Pol stand you up?"

 

Jon barely flinched at Trip's voice.  Normally, he would have appreciated his interruption on his stormy thoughts and his attempts at humor.  But not tonight.  Tonight he could barely find the strength to smile.  Everything just felt wrong.  It was as if the universe had gotten up on the wrong side of the bed this morning.  "No, Malcolm did."

 

Trip's jaw dropped to the floor.  Malcolm!  He doubted that Malcolm had approached Jon.  But for the two of them to be having dinner something had to have happened.  It never entered Trip's mind that Jon was joking.  There were some things that Jon would joke about and some things, like Malcolm, were off limits.  What had happened since the last time they talked?  The ship had been attacked a few days ago and the crew had just finished all the repairs to the Enterprise.  When had he had time to approach Malcolm?  When had he worked up the courage?  And why did Jon think Malcolm had stood him up?  The answer to his last question hit Trip like a dozen pecan pies in the face.  Because he had kept Malcolm in the armory long after Malcolm's was over.  Their date must have been pretty close to right after their shifts were finished.  Time to patch this mess up.  "Malcolm didn't stand you up."

 

This statement finally got Jon's attention and he turned away from the window to stare at Trip.  The agonizing pain etched into his face caused Trip to take a step back.  His usually bright eyes were darkened with miserable despair.  Jon must have been running himself through the wringer more and more the later it became. "I kinda waylaid Malcolm and started in on a plan I've got to reduce the recharge time of the cannons and…"

 

Jon couldn't stop the frown from crossing his face.  He should've known.  A weapons upgrade.  That was the one possibility he had forgotten.  Stood up for an opportunity to make more things blow up faster. 

 

Trip stopped his explanation as soon as he noticed Jon wasn't listening anymore.  He needed to hear what had happened.  Hear about Malcolm's reaction to his ideas before Jon shut down completely and retreated inward even further. But first, he had to get Jon to listen again.

 

"Jonathan Archer!"  Jon's eyes shifted their focus back to him but he didn't say a word.  Instead, the look on his face told Trip that he wanted to be alone.  "If you'd listen to me, you'd find out that Malcolm paid even less attention to me than you are.  And he looked more irritated with me bein' around than you are.  He didn't care about the phase cannons.  He just wanted to get outta there.  As soon as I figur'd that out, I let him go.  Teased him 'bout havin' a date.  I didn't know it was with you.  I just left the armory so he should be here soon."

 

Trip turned around and started to leave the dining room before Jon stopped him by putting his hand on his shoulder.  "Thanks, Trip."

 

The light was back in his eyes.  Not entirely but Trip had a feeling that Malcolm, once he got past his anal obsession with his appearance and got his British ass down here, would finish the job.  "No problem, Cap'n.  Just realize that you owe me the whole story later."

 

"That I do.  See you later."  Trip left with a smile and Jon returned to his place by the window.  His enormous pearly white smile was reflected back at him.  Malcolm hadn't cared about the phase cannons.  It was simply wonderful.  Jon couldn't believe that he had been so jealous of some weaponry.  Malcolm's beloved weapons.  He had often wondered what that passion and energy would be like if it was transferred to other things…like him.  With that thought, his smile got a little wider.   The other thing that bothered him was how quickly he had started to doubt Malcolm.  Why had he done that?  His musings were stopped by the sound of the door opening behind him.

 

Malcolm's reflection filled the empty space in the window beside his.  It struck Jon as being quite symbolic.  An empty space being filled.  At the moment, the figure filling the space had indeed gone informal.  The snug long-sleeve black shirt that Malcolm was wearing revealed his lean, muscular chest to Jon for the first time.  It was definitely a sight that deserved to be seen by his own eyes instead of through a slightly blurred reflection.  Slowly turning around, Jon's heart began to ache all over again at the look on Malcolm's face.   He was afraid of something.  Of him being upset with him?  That he wouldn't accept why he had been late?  Or of something else all together?

 

Taking one very cautious step forward, Malcolm watched Jon's face for any hint of disapproval or disappointment.  Instead, all he saw was an odd twitching at the sides of his mouth.  "I'm sorry I'm so late.  You wouldn't believe the shift I've had." 

 

Jon gave up on fighting off a grin.  Remembering his thoughts during his turn on the bridge, he was pretty sure that he knew exactly how difficult Malcolm's shift had been.  "I don't know.  Mine wasn't all peaches and cream, either."

 

The friendly tone in Jon's voice helped Malcolm relax slightly.  Jon didn't sound angry or disappointed but it didn't seem quite right.  Malcolm knew he was over twenty minutes late.  He had expected to find Jon gone or very angry with him.  Everything in his experience told him to anticipate one or both of those outcomes.  A smiling Jon was out of his frame of reference.  One thing that always bothered him was something that he couldn't predict.  His job required being able to foresee all possible problems in a tactical or security situation.  But Jon was smiling.  And that he hadn't foreseen.  Well, basic tactical strategy stated that the best way to counter unpredictability was with returned unpredictability.

 

"If it hadn't been for a certain engineer, I would have been here on time." 

 

Malcolm got a bit of enjoyment out of watching the surprise and shock register on Jon's face.  He'd never heard him speak without his accent before.  It was a talent he used rarely, usually only when he was trying to not let something unsettle him.  He could imitate Commander Tucker's southern drawl but Malcolm decided to keep that little secret from Jon for the time being. 

 

Jon had heard from Travis that Malcolm had spoken without his accent when he'd come to break them out of the Tandarin prison but he'd never heard it.  Why had Malcolm done it now?  He knew that he was attempting to lighten the mood but Jon had an advantage.  He knew why Malcolm had been late and had already accepted it.  Something else he had in his corner was that he could see Malcolm's eyes.  He might be able to take the anxiety out of his voice and face but it was still there in his eyes.  Malcolm was scared to death.

 

"It's okay, Malcolm.  I know why you're late." 

 

That was definitely the wrong thing to say.  Malcolm's posture went ramrod straight again and he carefully took a step backwards toward the door.  Jon thought it looked like Malcolm was bracing for an attack.  The last time he'd seen him stand at attention like that was that night when he asked him what he wanted.  Was it purely a defense mechanism or was Malcolm truly expecting him to violently confront him?  Jon knew that there were reasons that Malcolm was as withdrawn as he was but it seemed that his past was worse than he thought.  He was as skittish as a frightened animal.

 

Malcolm was watching the emotions play across Jon's face.  He kept looking for the two he expected.  Anger and disappointment.  But they weren't there.  All he could discern was confusion and something that struck him as pity.  He had a feeling, though, that he was the one that was more confused.  Only one person would have told Jon about why he was late.  And that was the person that delayed him.  This meant that Commander Tucker had to have put two and two together.  Experience told him that other people couldn't really be trusted with secrets like this one.  However, Jon didn't look concerned about the possibility of the commander knowing about them.  If there was still a them.

 

"I take it that Commander Tucker came to see you."  Malcolm's voice was very professional and without inflection.  His detachment made Jon take a step back himself.  There was that wall coming back into play.  Jon kept reminding himself that there was a way through every barrier.  There just had to be.  A voice in the back of his mind told him that this was why he had so quickly doubted Malcolm.  Because Malcolm so quickly doubted him and them.

 

"He did.  Trip told me that he ambushed you with a plan to improve the phase cannons.  He also asked me if T'Pol had stood me up.  I told him that you had."  Jon paused at the sudden loss of color to Malcolm's face. 

 

"You told…You told him that we…"  Malcolm gestured between himself and Jon.  He felt utterly betrayed.  How could Jon just talk so openly about something like this?  Even if it was to his best friend.  Relationships were meant to be kept secret and private.  A thought snuck into Malcolm's anger.  What if this was a part of that intimate trust?  Just as this notion worked its way into his thoughts, Malcolm's mind registered exactly what Jon had said.  He had thought that he had stood him up.  And that's when everything hit him.  Jon wasn't angry because the commander had told him that he had kept him in the armory until long after his shift had been over.  This had prevented Jon from continuing to think that he had stood him up.  Malcolm made a mental note to thank the commander later.  If everything turned out all right.

 

"I'm sorry, Jon."  After he apologized, Jon expected Malcolm to tell him what he was apologizing for.  But he didn't look like he was going to say anything else.  That's when Jon expected Malcolm to leave.  But he didn't.  Instead, a hesitant smile appeared on Malcolm's face and he took a few steps closer.  "I'm not accustomed to being open about my private life.  I didn't think you would tell the commander that you had a date with me."

 

Jon had no problem returning Malcolm's tentative smile with one of his own.  Malcolm wasn't leaving.  He was staying and he was explaining the emotions behind his eyes.  It appeared that his mantra was proving correct.  There was a way through every barrier.  But what he hadn't enlightened him on was why he had been so scared earlier.  Jon had a feeling, though, that this definitely wasn't the time to ask.   His questions didn't exactly have the best track record with Malcolm.

 

"Actually, Malcolm, Trip's been enduring listening to me fantasize about you for a while."

 

Jon's simple assertion made Malcolm feel quite guilty.  It constituted the second time that Jon had admitted to wanting him aloud.  On the other hand, his confessions consisted of stammering, incomplete spoken words and a lot of unspoken feelings.  It was true that he had kissed Jon.  But it had been so quick that Malcolm doubted that it really counted.  Not that it hadn't counted to him, though.  The sweet taste of Jon's lips had been a lingering presence in his dreams the past few nights.  And now, they were standing in front of each other again.  It dawned on him just how much Jon was taking on faith.  He never would have believed Jon cared about him unless he had heard it from Jon's own lips.  On the other hand, Jon had heard no such words from him.  The man in his dreams was only a couple of feet away from him because he believed in him.  It simply astounded him.

 

"You're amazing, Jonathan Archer."  The words sounded odd to Malcolm's ears.  It was exactly what he was thinking.  And he'd said it out loud.  It was worth the strangeness, too.  The small smile on Jon's face turned beautifully tender.  It was all the encouragement Malcolm needed.

 

"Do you know how many times you've smiled at me like that in my dreams?  Or how many times I've woken from those dreams wishing you were in my arms?"

 

Jon felt like crying.  Or singing.  Or jumping for absolute joy.  It was as if the rest of reality had faded away until all that was left was him and Malcolm.  "Probably as many times I've fallen asleep reading the armory reports because you wrote them."

 

As if on some unspoken cue, Jon and Malcolm moved toward one another.  Each movement mirrored by the other until they were just inches from each other.  Jon's hand reached up to caress Malcolm's cheek for an instant and slowly they came closer together.  Arms wrapped around the bodies that they had longed to hold and still closer they came.  Until, in a perfect moment, their lips met once more.

 

This wasn't the uncertain kiss of before.  Jon was no longer a pleasantly surprised spectator.  He made up for his loss by kissing Malcolm with all the pent-up passion that he felt.   He pulled Malcolm tighter to him as his hands possessively roamed his back.  His lips eagerly explored Malcolm's, memorizing the taste that was so distinctively the man that was just as eagerly kissing him.

 

Malcolm's mind was overwhelmed with all of the emotions and sensations he was feeling.  So he firmly told his mind to leave him alone and happily lost himself in Jon.  He could feel him pulling him closer and he responded by reaching up to place his hand on the back of his neck.  Ignoring his mind's pleas for him to remember his self-control, Malcolm slid his hand up into Jon's hair and yanked him even closer. 

 

It seemed like an eternity to Jon before they reluctantly came up for air.  Malcolm was still running his hand through his hair and Jon had to remind his heart to beat at the amazing sensation of seeing no doubt or uncertainity in Malcolm's eyes.  Just pure, unadulterated desire and passion.  He finally had a piece of the answer to his question about what it would be like to have Malcolm's enthusiasm transferred to him.  It felt like nothing else in the universe.  It was perfect.

 

Malcolm took a small step backwards so they were close but not quite touching.  His mind had regained control and everything was beginning to overwhelm him again.  Jon was looking at him like he was something magical and he could still feel his lips on his, like an echo of some sorts.  There were a thousand things he wanted to say, nothing that expressed what he wanted it to, and a million more reasons he didn't want to screw this up.  But just as he knew that he would never settle for a dream Jon again, Malcolm knew he had to explain his heart somehow.

 

The loss of Malcolm's touch was keenly felt by Jon who once again was watching the Malcolm emotional barometer – his eyes.  However, they were strangely void of desire and instead filled with the more familiar reservation and doubt. 

 

"Malcolm?"

 

There was no response from him.  Malcolm just stood there, like a deaf man.  Jon tentatively placed his hand on his shoulder.  "Malcolm?"

 

He shifted his head slightly so he was looking at Jon.  "I was just thinking about my grandmother."

 

His grandmother?  That answer definitely threw Jon for a loop.  He wasn't sure he wanted to know why, after that knee-wobbling kiss, Malcolm was thinking about his grandmother.

 

"She told me once, a long time ago, that the best times in a person's life are those that we never expect.  They are the moments we steal from heaven because nowhere else can such perfection be found."

 

"I think I know what she meant."

 

Jon shifted his hand from Malcolm's shoulder and reached down to hold his hand.  Unconsciously, they turned slightly so they were almost on the same spot that Jon had been standing on earlier.  Malcolm now saw what Jon had seen before.  An empty space being filled.

 

And only the passing dots of light bore witness to the sight of two people standing in front of a window in a universe that was inhabited by only them.  No words were spoken in this stolen moment.  For the couple, the reflection of their tightly woven hands against the blackness of space said everything it needed to.  There were questions that needed to be answered and pineapple chicken that needed to be eaten but they both knew now that there would be time for that later.  Right now, creating comfort, be it physical or emotional, between them was more important.  For they were both well aware of the barriers and facades that still needed to be dealt with.  But as Jonathan Archer knew, there was a way through every barrier, if you wanted what was on the other side bad enough.  And as Malcolm Reed knew every façade could be dismantled.  It simply took the right person to do it. 

 

As they stood staring at the stars, both men knew that what was between them wasn't something temporary.  It was a lasting thing; a connection, as Jon thought of it.  They could feel its presence grow with every second that passed with them not as Captain Archer and Lieutenant Reed but as Jon and Malcolm, two people who cared deeply for each other.

 

The connection couldn't be broken by uncertainity, misunderstandings, and doubt.  An intrusion by the outside world didn't stand a chance.

 

"Bridge to Captain Archer."  Hoshi's voice echoed through the comfortably quiet room.

 

Regretfully, Jon released Malcolm's hand.  After a fleeting glance at Malcolm to see if he reacted at all, he walked over and pressed the comm button.  "What's up, Hoshi?"

 

"Admiral Forrest wishes to speak with you, sir."

 

Jon rolled his eyes at the undoubtably long interruption to his and Malcolm's date.  Sometimes the man had the absolute worst timing.  He turned back to look at Malcolm's reaction to this piece of news only to catch him attempting to stifle a laugh.

 

"Can you take a message, Hoshi?"

 

Malcolm couldn't hide his laughter any more and Jon's eyes went wide as what he could only describe as a giggle escaped Malcolm's lips.

 

Hoshi's confused voice came back over the comm.  "A message, sir?"

 

"Never mind.  Send the transmission to my quarters and tell the admiral that I'll be with him shortly."

 

"Yes, sir."

 

Malcolm walked over to where Jon was standing.  It figured, he thought.  And so the hidden balancing act begins.  He expected Jon to comment on it, but, in what Malcolm was beginning to suspect would be a regular occurance, Jon did something he didn't predict.

 

"I liked that sound."  Jon enjoyed watching Malcolm's facial expression go from amused to flustered and confused.  He had a feeling that a lot of his actions were probably bewildering poor Malcolm.  It was something that he found was quite pleasurable.

 

"What sound?"

 

"The sound of you giggling."

 

"Young girls giggle.  I do not giggle.  I hardly ever laugh, for that matter."

 

At that, the look on Jon's face turned serious.  "I've noticed…"

 

There was a pause as Jon considered asking Malcolm why he didn't laugh very often.  Then, he remembered that the admiral was probably starting to wonder where he was.  Filing that question away in a drawer of things to ask Malcolm later, Jon switched tracks in mid-sentence.

 

"I don't know how long this is going to take…" 

 

A soft smile crossed Malcolm's face as he realized that it was Jon's turn to be flustered and unsure of what to do.  He knew just how difficult it was when you didn't know how someone was going to react or what he was going to say.  Taking a step closer to Jon, Malcolm placed his hand on his shoulder.  "Don't worry about it.  I'll be right here waiting."

 

They both felt the significance behind those two short sentences.  It was a simple statement of trust.  Malcolm trusted Jon to return.  To not just leave him there.  Looking into those eyes that still seemed to see into his very soul, Jon tried his best to convey to Malcolm that he understood the deeper meaning of his words.  "I know you will be.  I won't let it run too long.  After all, you're here, not in my quarters."

 

Jon gave Malcolm a quick peck on the lips before he opened the door and walked out.  As he started down the corridor, Jon thought about his last words to Malcolm.  An interesting idea formed in his mind and he walked back to the door to the captain's private dining room.  Pressing the button, Jon leaned forward so his head was sticking through the doorway.  Malcolm, who had been walking back toward the window, jumped slightly at the sound of the door opening so soon and turned around to see who it was.

 

"Not yet anyway."  With that, Jon shut the door once again and headed toward his quarters.

 

Malcolm stood staring dumbfounded at the closed door.  What in the bloody hell had Jon been talking about?  Not yet, what?  Then, it started slowly as Malcolm walked back to the window.  At first, it seemed to resemble a typical Malcolm half-smile.  But, Jon's words repeated themselves without a break in between and, for the first time in a long while, Malcolm couldn't stop it.

 

_"After all, you're here, not in my quarters.  Not yet anyway."_

The half smile grew into an actual, honest-to-goodness, full fledged grin as Malcolm went back to staring out at the stars and the wait got underway.

 

"I guess that makes two things I'm waiting for."


	4. An Act of Faith

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After Admiral Forrest's interruption, Jon returns to the dining room only to find Malcolm doing something unexpected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Switches back to Archer POV here

It's a good thing that the corridors between my quarters and the dining room are relatively empty.  The fewer crewmen that see me like this, the better.  I have what can only be described as a spring in my step and a smile on my face that rivals a child's grin on Christmas morning.  A whistle escapes my lips as the sing-song rhyme of "I kissed Malcolm Reed" skips through my head.  I've never felt like I've spent an evening on a roller coaster before.  I had a dinner date with Malcolm.  Well, I have.  It's not over with yet.  It figures that after Malcolm got comfortable, life would intervene.  Probably thought it was funny.  I feel the goofy grin on my face get wider. 

 

Life wasn't the only one that thought Admiral Forrest's interruption was humorous.  Malcolm had, too.  He actually giggled.   It was the most amazing sound.  I've never heard him laugh like that.  Every other time has been restrained and polite.  It was like he was deliberately holding back.  Keeping himself to himself.  It would be nice to say that I understood why but I don't.  There are so many holes that I need to fill in.  I've never needed to know a person like I need to know Malcolm.  I get the feeling that no one really knows him.  His sister might know more than anyone else, though.  According to Hoshi, she wanted to talk to Malcolm when she was talking to her about his favorite food.  His own parents hadn’t even asked to speak with him.  His so-called father had even automatically leapt to the conclusion that Malcolm was in trouble.  I can't imagine strait-laced Malcolm being in a great deal of trouble in school but his father acted like it was an expected event.  Perhaps Malcolm wasn't as reticent when he was growing up.

 

Yet another unanswered question for my Malcolm file.  I seem to have quite a few of them.  Although, I do like the sound of that.  My Malcolm.  That's the first time I've allowed myself to think of him that way.  As someone who could truly belong to me.  As Trip would no doubt attest, I'm incredibly possessive of my lovers.  Not in a physical sense but in an emotional one.  I want all of Malcolm for my very own.  His desires, his secrets, his fantasies.  His heart. 

 

It amazes me what can go through a person's mind while they walk through the corridors of a ship.  Most of the time, my mind is on ship's business.  When all is well, I often find myself thinking of my father and what he would have thought of Enterprise.  But now, all of my thoughts are directed on only one thing.  The gorgeous Englishman waiting for me just a little further up the hallway.

 

I can't believe that everything that's happened tonight has been real.  For so long, Malcolm seemed remarkably out of reach.  But now, he's here.  I've touched him.  I've held him.  I've kissed him.  That last still makes me go all squishy.  I wonder if I'll always feel this way.  More than a little lightheaded at the simple thought of kissing Malcolm.

 

My little jaunt has thankfully come to an end.  I'm staring at the door to the dining room; my face becoming flushed at the idea that Malcolm is waiting for me on the other side.  Not Lieutenant Reed giving me a report but Malcolm.  I push the buttons to open the door and I expect to see Malcolm where I left him.  Standing in front of the window.  But the sight before me stops me in my tracks and the door barely has enough room to close behind me.

 

Malcolm is sitting up to the table, his arms folded across its surface in front of him with his head turned slightly towards me and rested atop his arms.  His gray eyes are closed and without their intensity, Malcolm's face takes on a serene look.  I quickly stifle the chuckle threatening to burst out.  Malcolm Reed – the master of the double-shift and graduate of the school of "48 hours with no sleep" – is napping.

 

I know I was gone a while, definitely longer than I expected.  Admiral Forrest was updating me on various events back at Starfleet, as well as summarizing for me Soval's latest tirade on my dubious performance as captain.  But I didn't expect Malcolm to be asleep when I returned.  Softly as I possibly can, I walk over to where he's resting.  Amazingly enough, he doesn't even flinch at the sound of my feet.  With all of the work he's been doing after that last attack, I'm not surprised that Malcolm is exhausted.  What does surprise me, though, is the look on his face.  Never, in all the time that I've known him, have I ever seen Malcolm smile quite like that.  It reminds me of the look he gets when something blows up just right.  A smile that says he's quite pleased with himself.  But there is more to the smile on Malcolm's sleeping face than that.  He looks…content.  As if everything is perfect in the world. 

 

And it is.  Enterprise and its crew is one piece, no one is shooting at us, there are no problems with the timeline, and Malcolm is napping in my private dining room.  Everything is definitely perfect.  Slowly, I reach out to lightly brush a piece of hair off Malcolm's forehead.  The delicate touch is enough to stir him and I watch the confusion over his surroundings pass quickly across his face.  He lifts his head and his gaze travels up my body until our eyes meet.  His gray eyes are, for an instant, filled with wonder before that look of contentment returns. 

 

Once again, I find myself admiring his composure when dealing with the unexpected.  He doesn't look flustered or bothered at all with his having fallen asleep.  Thinking back, I remember my own reaction to discovering that I had drifted off while listening to Malcolm recite from Ulysses.  Embarrassed doesn't even begin to cover it.  But there's Malcolm, looking as if he knows exactly what I'm thinking about. 

 

"I am sorry about that, Jon.  I didn't realize just how long the past few days have been."

 

Sitting down in the seat closest to him, I give Malcolm my best lopsided smile.  "Don't worry about it.  You deserve more than a little rest."

 

Malcolm negates my statement with a decisive shake of his head.  "No more than the rest of the crew, I think."

 

His little head shake has caused that lock of hair to fall across his forehead again.  Not that I don't like the look; as a matter of fact, I've often wondered just how much sexier Malcolm would look with his hair messed up a bit.  But it gives me the chance to reach over and brush it back into place.  As I slowly return my hand to its previous position on the table, Malcolm takes my hand and gently kisses the back of it.  I grasp his hand a little tighter and we let them fall naturally, still clasped, onto the table. 

 

Strangely enough, the look of comfort has been replaced on his pale features by that damn awkward nervousness again.  I know I have an insatiable curiosity.  I wouldn't be out here if I didn't.  But I'm the one who gets nervous when it comes to questioning Malcolm.  Everything could be fine, like it was a moment ago, the next breath, he's uncertain and nervous again.  I purposefully squeeze his hand tighter for a split second, and then I wade into the deep end.

 

"What's wrong, Malcolm?"

 

He looks flustered at being questioned but he quickly regains his self-control.  So far, so good.  Kind of.  In order for everything to be all right, I would like an answer to my question.  This can't work if he doesn't open up a little.  Why are you so edgy, Malcolm?  Please let me in.

 

I’m about ready to ask him again when a voice I barely recognize as Malcolm's answers me.  It seems too unsteady to be that of my collected armory officer.  "I don't know.  I don't know what to say or what to do.  I've never been very good at this."                            

 

Never been good at what?  I feel Malcolm's hold on my hand grow even stronger.  It's like he's drawing strength from my presence even though me being near him is making him nervous.  I want to reassure him.  To tell him that I understand.  But I can't.  It's that wall of his.  It's taunting me.  Making me wonder if I'll ever get around it or through it. 

 

It takes a physical effort on my part not to jump when I feel Malcolm's other hand grab my other as well.  Definitely unexpected.  I keep watching him.  Waiting for him to make eye contact or to say something.  I count twenty beats of my pounding heart before Malcolm speaks again.

 

"Thank you."

 

Now he's got me confused.  "For what, Malcolm?"

 

His eyes meet mine and I have to remind my heart to beat at the pure emotion in them.  The warmth and fondness in them is something I have never seen in anyone's eyes before.  Not in Malcolm's.  Not in anyone.  At least, it's a look I've never seen meant for me. 

 

"Not giving up on me."  For a second, I think that is all he is going to say until his still unsteady voice continues. 

 

"For a moment there, I was afraid of you.  Afraid of what's between us.  But you never leave.  I'm always waiting for you to back away.  But you don't.  You stay when others leave." 

 

The undercurrent of pain in his voice reverberates inside of me, even though I don't know the source of it.  Who could have abandoned Malcolm?  What could have made him so certain that I'd leave him?  Tentatively, I squeeze his hands even tighter.  I can tell he wants to break eye contact but he fights the impulse.  Stubborn, my Malcolm is.

 

"Why are you afraid of me?"  My voice sounds tiny, despite the nearly empty room. 

 

"Were.  I was afraid of you.  Because…I need you.  I never knew that was possible to become attached so quickly to someone as I've become attached to you.  Four days ago, I had been prepared to accept an unrequited attraction.  Now, I can't imagine not being allowed to kiss you…to hold you."

 

His voice is steady and the warmth in his eyes has become mixed with something I never, even in my most private thoughts, hoped to see.  "I love you, Jon."

 

I know I can't possibly trust my vocal cords to function properly.  In front of me is a man who, despite a past that makes him as skittish as wild animal surrounded by a crowd of people, is fighting his fears.  For me.  In front of me is a man who loves me.

 

Leaning forward, I capture Malcolm's mouth with my own, assaulting it with a passionate fervor.  I don't even attempt to stop the moan when Malcolm's tongue fiercely attacks my own.  Each onslaught is a sensual reminder of my feelings for the man.  Unexpected but impossible to ignore forever.

 

Slowly, we part and I lean my forehead against Malcolm's.  He's panting as hard as I am.  I'm trembling a bit with desire.  I thought I wanted him pretty badly before but now?  I'm not going to rest until he knows I'm not going anywhere.  I couldn't leave him.  He's shaking, too, though I wonder if a part of him is still scared and that's reason or if he wants me too.  I know he does.  It's impossible to kiss someone like Malcolm kisses me and not want the other person but is his fear overriding everything else?

 

"Damn."  That one breathless word speaks volumes.  And gives me an answer.

 

"Exactly what I was thinking, Malcolm."

 

I feel him back away and I immediately notice the curious look on his face.  "Then why didn't you say so?"

 

I can picture myself in an old earth cartoon at this moment.  Some creature has just dropped an anvil on my stupid head.  With all of my concerns about Malcolm and what he's thinking and feeling, it didn't occur to me until this moment that I hadn't…despite his hidden fears, Malcolm still forced himself to be more open with me than I suspect he's been with anyone in a while.  And then, those words.  Four glorious words.  I am so sorry, Malcolm.

 

Reaching up, I tenderly rub his cheek with my thumb.  "I think you are the amazing one, Malcolm Reed."

 

An half an hour ago, he had told me that I was amazing.  That was how I knew he wasn't going to leave.  Give up on the idea of us.  I hope he understands what I'm trying to tell him.

 

"I'm surprised both of our heads fit through the doorway, in that case." 

 

I don't bother trying to keep my giggling inside.  The sound startles Malcolm for a moment and then he joins in.  Stifling his laughing, Malcolm reaches over and brushes a piece of hair off my forehead.  Our eyes meet and I know we're thinking the same thought.  It's a simple gesture but significant.  It says, quite succinctly, that I can't believe he cares for me, too.  All those lonely nights wishing and wondering.  It turned out that I wasn't alone in my wishing and neither was he. 

 

"I love you too, Malcolm."

 

The change in the room is almost tangible.  It's as if everything has become sharper…clearer somehow.  Malcolm is giving me the most tender smile and he's using our once again joined hands to pull me upright and out of the chair.  He pulls me a step or two away from the table and with each second my curiosity grows.  What is he up to?

 

"I've wanted to do this for a while."  One of his hands releases mine and I feel his arm wrap around me and pull me closer.  His hand is lovingly rested on my back and I notice that our clasped hands are now in a familiar but incredibly unexpected position.

 

"May I have this dance?"

 

Stunned into silence, I simply nod and place my free hand on Malcolm's back.  It's an odd feeling letting Malcolm lead.  But that's nothing compared to the sensation of being close to him like this.  It's electric.  Every sense is in complete overdrive.  I can hear Malcolm's heavier-than-normal breathing.  I can feel the graze of his leg against mine as we gently sway back and forth.

 

"I didn't know you liked to dance, Malcolm."

 

His response is one of the very few stories of his past that I've gotten from his own lips.  "My sister, Madeline, studied ballet when she was younger.  She complained that there weren't enough males in her class.  And well…I never could deny Maddie anything."

 

It takes a moment for the meaning to sink in.  "You took ballet?"

 

Looking down, I watch with glee as Malcolm's cheeks turn a gorgeous shade of pink.  I impulsively pull him tighter and kiss the top of his head.  Images of a younger, but still blushing, Malcolm wearing tights and doing pirouettes literally dance through my head. 

 

"Only for a few years.  The flexibility helped my hand-to-hand combat skills."

 

"Say whatever you want to.  I know you enjoyed wearing a tutu."

 

The energy in the room jumps tenfold as Malcolm stops the dancing and looks at me with an almost lethal intensity.  "If Commander Tucker starts making cracks…"

 

He leaves the threat open-ended and I know he's incredibly serious.  It tells me two things.  The first is that Malcolm was picked on a lot when he was younger.  The second is that he hasn't had many really good friends.  He assumed that I tell Trip everything.  I tell him a lot but not everything.  Some things are private.  Like this moment between us.

 

"It's between us, Malcolm." 

 

Something in him relaxes and he smiles.  A lopsided goofy smile.  I'm not sure whether to classify it as adorable or sexy.  Or both.  "I know.  I trust you.  But can you imagine?  The armory officer who wore pink?"

 

I can't resist the levity.  "The dancing demolitions expert?"

 

We both collapse against each other in laughter.  I've never heard Malcolm laugh this much. It's enough to cause my heart to beat all crazily.  One would think that I would be used to it by now.  My heart has always skipped a beat around Malcolm.

 

The sensation of Malcolm's body pressed up against mine sends shivers straight down my spine.  Somehow we manage to work our way even closer together until Malcolm's head is laying against my shoulder with his cheek against my chest.  We're both quiet now.  I'm encompassed by the emotions radiating from him.  Instinctively, I know he feels the same way.

 

The words come at the same time from both us.  It's almost as soft as a whisper but deeper.  Much deeper.

 

"I love you."


	5. Insomnia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon and Malcolm finally leave the dining room but Malcolm can't sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Switches to Reed POV here

I'm supposed to be sleeping.  It's not that I'm not exhausted enough to rest but it's that I have far too much to think about.  My mind is moving too fast for it to realize that it should stop.  Nights that I get more than five hours of sleep are a rarity for me so one would think I would be accustomed to insomnia by now.  But this is a different kind of sleepless night.  I'm not alone. 

 

This is not the first time I've shared my bed with someone else.  But this is the first time I've shared a bed with someone I love.  It snuck up on me, in a way.  Love did.  But it's there.  Deep and true.  We're spooned together and his arms are wrapped around me.  One of his hands is directly over my heart and everything feels so right.  If I shift positions even a little, he pulls me tighter against him.  It's like he's afraid I'm going to leave. 

 

That is…was my fear.  Jon leaving me.  I've never been in an actual relationship before.  Having sex with another person is one thing.  A relationship implies certain things.  Like a bearing the soul type of trust.  Talking.  It's not natural for me.  But in the silence, when others before him have gotten fed up and frustrated, Jon stayed.  I wonder if I'll be able to explain to him just what that means to me.  I doubt it.  But my instinct tells me that he knows.  Somehow, he knows.  It's one of the reasons I love him so much.  Another?  His persistence.  He keeps fighting me; he refuses to accept the façade.  He knows that's what it is, too.  A façade.  Fake.  Jon doesn't push to me to go far too fast for my hesitant self.  Like right now.

 

We're in my quarters.  Despite the fact that his are bigger and most likely, more comfortable, Jon simply accepted the fact that I would be more comfortable here.  And I am.  His quarters would make it more real.  I know it is.  I can feel his even breathing against my cheek, his bare chest pressed up against my back, his legs possessively tangled with mine.  But here, I know that it's just Jon and Malcolm.  He's never been here.  Not as Captain Archer, anyway.  Only Jon has been in my quarters.  Every time I've been in his, it has been on a professional basis.  I know that will eventually change but for the first time, my quarters make it just one spot easier to drop the façade.  This is the only place I did.  Until Jon, that is.  Besides, not that I'll admit it to him, Porthos causes my allergies to act up a bit.  Perhaps I should speak to Dr. Phlox about that.  Knowing the doctor, it will strain his restraint to the limit to not ask the reason why I want a vaccination against the captain's dog.  On the other hand, he'll ask anyway. 

 

But it's not Dr. Phlox's curiosity that is keeping me awake.  I wonder just how many crewmembers have witnessed and noticed me and Jon's little dance tonight.  Not our dance in the dining room.  I still can't believe I actually told him about taking ballet.  But the dance that is preventing me from sleeping is the revolving door of the captain's dining room.  Me, Jon, and Commander Tucker coming and going until Jon and I left.  Together.  We walked through the mess hall.  Together.  There weren't a great deal of people in there because of all of the repairs to the ship just finishing up, the bizarre shift schedule because of it, and the overall need for sleep by the whole crew.  Jon and I, included.  But there were still people.  How many saw us?  How many questioned it?  I don't like not knowing things like that.  It's part of my job to be aware of everything going on.  Paranoia, Mr. Tucker calls it. 

 

We walked through the corridors together doing our best to carry on some semblance of a work-related conversation.  Keeping it up was difficult for me.  I've never been very good at play acting like that.  Accents and disguises, yes.  But this was personal.  Very personal.  Hopefully, it worked.  We kept talking like that until we entered my quarters.  The instant we were through the door, Jon pulled me close for a kiss.  The kind of kiss that takes a person a moment to recover from.  The kind that causes all coherent thought to leave my mind. 

 

If my mind had been capable of rational thought, it wouldn't have allowed my body to yawn only seconds after Jon and I parted.  I feared for a moment he would be disappointed or angry but my yawn was echoed by one from him.  I'll probably never forget the look he gave me next.  The uncertain vulnerability in his eyes.  The simple needy question in them.  My brain, still somewhat jumbled, allowed me to only get out, "Stay." 

 

The tired smile that illuminated his face surely matched the one on my face.  We undressed slowly until we were both in our regulation boxers.  I set an alarm in case we overslept.  As gorgeous as Jon is, the sight of him standing beside my bunk in just his boxers almost did me in.  I wanted him.  Badly.  I still do.  I always will.  But exhaustion won out this night.  A little hesitantly, both of us climbed into bed.  Within minutes, Jon was asleep.  I doubt he's slept very much since the Enterprise was attacked. 

 

But as tired as I am, I still can't sleep.  The questions are racing through my mind at a speed that would make the warp engines jealous.  What's next?  What will happen?  How will this work…Jon is the captain and I serve under his command.  I'm fairly sure that we've broken a few regulations.  Oddly enough, that doesn't seem to bother me.  Regulations are meant to be enforced, I believe that completely.  But I love him.  For a reason I'll probably never be able to articulate, that is more important than anything else.  Even regulations.  What about the crew?  Will Jon want to make this a 'public' relationship?  I can't keep myself from shuddering a bit at that thought. 

 

"What's wrong, Malcolm?"  Jon's sleepy voice intervenes in my thoughts.  I should have known.  My trembling was enough to wake him.

 

"Nothing.  Go back to sleep."

 

"Don't give me that.  You've been awake this whole time."  I'm not going to contest that last part.  He knows me too well to believe a lie and besides, I really don't want to lie to Jon.

 

"I was thinking.  That's all."  Not a lie.  But not exactly an elaborate truth.  I know I'm stalling.  It's just that I don't want to start questioning this…us yet.  Tonight, I simply want to be with him.  In his arms.  But Jon won't take that as an answer.  Not that I thought he would.  Gently but forcefully, he turns me over so I'm facing him.  I love this view.  His hazel eyes are boring into mine.  Waiting for an explanation.  No one else would be this persistent.  And I can't help myself.

 

"What's going to happen now, Jon?"

 

He pulls me closer to him until my head is resting against his shoulder.  Everywhere my bare skin touches his, desire spreads through my body like a wild fire.  Bloody distracting.  Wonderful but distracting.  "What do you want to happen, Malcolm?"

 

An image of me, him, and a long, private shore leave comes to mind so it takes me a moment to answer somewhat coherently.  "You and me.  An us."

 

Not the greatest answer but accurate.  "Why do I have a feeling that's not what's keeping you up?"

 

I pull back a bit so I can get a good look at his face.  Jon is smiling at me in a way that says 'I know you better than you think.'  And he does.  Know me, that is.

 

"I love you."  Once again, I'm stalling but I like being able to say it. 

 

"And I love you.  But stop stalling."  Damn him.  I can think of other…entertaining…ways to distract him but I truly wonder if it would work. 

 

"I was thinking about…the crew and us…public and private us…work and us…Am I making any sense?"  I can barely understand myself.  He's giving me a patient look.  He plants a soft kiss on my lips.  Damn him.  I can't focus when he does that.

 

"One day at a time, Malcolm.  Right now, we both need sleep."  A thought pops into my Jon addled brain.  Is he stalling, too?  Are we both afraid of this conversation?  I am.  He seems to be. 

 

"Do you realize how many people saw our little act tonight?"  I try not to raise my voice.  This is conversation that needs to be calm.  Not filled with my questioning suspicious nature.

 

"Act?  As far as anyone saw or heard, we were having a ship-related discussion." 

 

"I'm not referring to that.  I'm talking about the coming and going out of your dining room.  The entry is through the mess hall.  The rather occupied mess hall.  How many do you think put something together?"

 

"Probably no one."  He sounds mildly convincing. And very much awake.  I wonder if he is really convinced of that or if I truly am being paranoid about this.  Leaning forward a bit, he kisses me playfully on the nose.  Not nearly as distracting as before but it is Jonathan Archer.  The man is a walking distraction.  For me, anyway. 

 

"This time.  What about the next time?...I don't really want everyone to know that we're courting."  It slips out before I realize exactly what I said.  My whole body tenses up involuntarily.  What if Jon thinks I'm ashamed of him?  I love him.  I don't like the idea of everyone knowing my personal life, just yet.  I want to enjoy this for a while.  I know a secret like this won't keep but I want to keep Jon all to myself as long as I can.  I'm about to explain this all to him, to make up for the clumsy way I said it already, when a snort of laughter stops me.

 

I tilt my head up so I'm looking right into his eyes.  His mirth filled eyes.  "Courting?  Did you just use the word 'courting'?"

 

I momentarily forget my earlier concern and take offense at his making fun of my vocabulary.  "That's exactly what I said.  What other word would you rather have me use?"

 

The laughter drains from his eyes and his face gets that look.  It's an odd look.  And my favorite of his.  It's the exact look he had on his face when he told me that he loved me.  Why is he looking at me like that?  My vocabulary is hardly a trait I want to be loved for.  Well, maybe my accent.  I adore Jon's.  It's caressing, really...Bloody distracting man.

 

"I like it.  Courting."  Sometimes, he thoroughly confuses me.  First, he laughs at the word.  Then, he decides he likes it.  On top of all of this, he doesn't seem too bothered by my slip-up.  Great.  Now, he's back to laughing. 

 

"Hello, my name is Jonathan Archer and I'm courting Malcolm Reed."  All right.  What in the world is so bloody funny about the word 'courting'?  I'm about to ask when, once again, he kisses me.  And quite thoroughly, too.  I can feel the flush on my cheeks and can see that same flush mirrored on his.  As for the rest of his magnificent body, I'm not looking.  Focus, lieutenant.

 

"I'm just trying to get you to relax, Malcolm.  I'm worried, too.  To be honest, I don't know what to do.  I want to be with you.  That's what matters.  I don't think that we can be strict with it yet.  We'll just have to play it by ear."

 

Leave it to him to make everything make sense in just a few sentences.  It's the word 'strict' that does it for me.  I'm used to my world being strict and organized.  Everything in its place.  My very job on this ship is to control chaotic situations.  But a relationship cannot be strict like that.  It requires flexibility.  Especially on my part.  The last thing I want to do is ruin this because I couldn't learn to accept a little change.  Besides, I can tell that Jon enjoys making me feel off balance.  And I like it.  Very much.

 

Jon did accomplish his goal, though.  I seem to have forgotten all about my worries.  The only thing worth focusing on: Jon.  Him and him alone.  I love him so much.  I like him, I need him, I love him.  Only him.  As distracting as he is.

 

Suddenly, I'm feeling very relaxed and quite ready to get a little sleep.  The alarm is set for fairly early.  Despite his and, perhaps, now my belief in taking care of problems as they come up, I doubt Jon wants to leave my quarters when everyone else is leaving for their shift.  It's an assumption but a fairly accurate one, I think. 

 

This time, it's me that kisses Jon briefly before using an unexpected maneuver to catch him off guard for a change.  I've pushed him backwards so he's lying on his back.  Curling up against his side, I rest my head on his shoulder and contently drape my arm across his chest.  His strong arms envelop me and a yawn disguised as a sigh passes through my lips.  I feel his lips brush across my forehead.  "Good night, Malcolm."

 

"Good night, luv."

 

I can feel laughter rumble in his chest.  "First, 'courting', now 'luv'."  Another kiss on my forehead. 

 

For some reason, I get all nervous again.  The endearment just slipped out.  "Do you mind?"

 

His voice does something weird to my insides as it drops to a level that can only be called husky.  "Not at all."

 

"All right, then.  Good night, luv."

 

"Good night, my Malcolm."

 

I feel him tense slightly underneath me.  "Is that okay?"

 

More than okay.  The possessiveness of it.  I belong to him.  And I do.

 

"Definitely…luv."


	6. Promises and Pitfalls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning after Jon spends the night with Malcolm brings promises and uncertainties.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Switches back to Archer POV

In the haziness of sleep, I realize I'm not exactly sure where I am.  The bed doesn't feel like mine.  The mattress is definitely a little harder.  But the main thing that clues me in is the man snuggled against my side.  Drowsily, I lightly brush a finger along the pale arm draped across me until I've reached the slightly ruffled dark-haired head that's using my shoulder as a pillow.  I slowly entwine my fingers in the short hair, pulling him just a tiny bit tighter to me.

 

Malcolm.  He's still here.  I foggily remember that it's his quarters that we're in so I don't know where else he would go.  But the fact remains that he's still here.  I've never considered him to be a "turn and run" type of person.  That would imply that he gives in to his fear but I've seen firsthand, too many times for my liking, just how fearless Malcolm can be.  However, this is different.  As cautious as he is in the line of duty, there is nowhere he is more guarded than in his personal life.  His innate tendency to shut other people out gave me the impression that if someone, hopefully me, ever did get close to him; it would be then that he would run.  He would give into his fear of his true self being exposed. 

 

It turned out that my worrying was unnecessary.  I was only half asleep for the longest time, waiting for the telltale signs that he had fallen asleep.  But they never came.  I felt a shudder go through him, a little while later, and decided to make my awareness known.  It surprised me at first that he, eventually, told me what was keeping him awake.  But his answers didn't startle me in the slightest.  Normal, if a bit doubt-filled, questions.

 

I firmly believe what I told Malcolm.  I don't know what I want to happen.  Or how I want to approach everything.  I'm not concerned about Malcolm's interactions with me on a work level.  The textbook officer persona is too ingrained into Malcolm's mind for him to be anything else on duty.  What frightens me are my own reactions.  His disturbing penchant for getting injured and/or placing the safety of others before his own well-being without thinking is something that's bothered me since before I admitted to myself my feelings for Malcolm went deeper than professional.  How many times now has he laid in Sickbay, recovering from being shot, stabbed, or otherwise wounded?

 

Before, I could put on the "concerned captain" front as an excuse of sorts to mask my response to the man that I cared for being hurt.  Again.  But now, it's different.  It won't be Lt. Reed that's hurt.  It will be Malcolm.  The same Malcolm that I've held in my arms as we slept.  The Malcolm that I've said 'I love you' to and heard those same words from.  Frankly, I'm scared to death that I'm going to lose it somehow the first time I see him on the receiving end of a brutal attack.  Or any time, for that matter.  It's part of Malcolm's job description to be the ship's first line of defense, I suppose.  I knew that when I took command of the Enterprise I would undoubtedly come across hostile species.  I knew that I would be responsible for the people under my command.  I also knew that members of my crew could possibly die out here.  I just didn't know that I would fall in love with the man most likely to do so. 

 

What I do know is this:  I'm not letting Malcolm go.  It's taken me too long to get as far past those barriers of his as I have.  And I know I've barely scratched the surface.  I know he could be injured, hurt, or even killed in the line of duty.  But I rather spend every minute that I can trying to create my very own scene of destruction at the site of Malcolm's infamous wall.  The alternative is never knowing the feeling of having him in my arms again.  Honestly, that's simply unacceptable.

 

There is one other thing I know for certain.  It's five in the morning.  I've been waking up at five since I was a teenager.  Since I'm awake, I'm pretty sure that's what time it is.  The habit developed thanks to my high school water polo coach's love of morning practices.  As a teenager, I despised it.  Now, I find I appreciate it.  Especially when the little practice gives me the opportunity to do some unobserved Malcolm watching.  I wonder if he realizes that when he's in a deep slumber, he sleeps with his mouth open.  I bet he would think it was undignified.  I happen to think it makes him look adorably child-like.

 

I feel like I'm back in my biology class conducting observations on a class field trip.  Some strange part of my mind starts prattling on: the subject sleeps with his mouth open, only seems to truly relax when resting, and doesn't move much during sleep.  However, this last observation could be tainted by the fact that the observer is holding the subject rather tightly.  The curious portion of my personality wonders just how light or heavy of a sleeper Malcolm is.  That's one observation I haven't made yet.  If I gently turn Malcolm onto his back, I should be able to prop myself up and stare at him some more or he's going to wake up and smile at me.  A win-win situation.

 

A few moments later, though, I realize that I missed one little thing.  Malcolm's bed is more than a tad smaller than mine.  I didn't grasp the fact that we were right up against the edge. 

 

"Bugger!  How on Earth?"

 

Leaning a little bit over the side of the bed, I cautiously look over.  Malcolm is looking up at me from the floor.  He's entangled in the comforter that accompanied him in his tumble.  And he doesn't look all that pleased with me.  If I were a slightly more foolish man, I would tell him that he looks like he's pouting.  Right now, I'm just glad that he's not anywhere near a phase pistol. 

 

"Ummm…Sorry?" 

 

He doesn't answer me; instead he pulls himself up until he's sitting on the floor with his legs bent at the knees in front of him with his forearms resting on top of his kneecaps.  With a smirk I belatedly recognize as dangerously crafty, Malcolm quickly reaches out, grabs one of my arms, and pulls me off the bunk.  I try to stop the fall but I've forgotten that my arm has managed to become numb since Malcolm slept on it all night.  With a very undignified squawk, I almost land directly on top of him but he uses my momentum to keep me rolling until my back is flat against the deck.  Despite the icy coldness of the metal and burgeoning throbbing in my back, I find that I don't really mind, though.  Malcolm's now straddling me with a dark predatory gleam in his eyes.  Very nice.

 

"Kicking me out of bed already, luv?"  Am I really supposed to be thinking even remotely coherently right now?  Malcolm is looking at me with a combination of lust and amusement.  He's called me 'luv' and he's leaning over me in a way that's turning me into a hormonal teenager again.  Lucidity is definitely not possible.

 

"I really didn't mean to knock you out of bed.  I forgot just how small these bunks are."  Telling him what exactly I was up to that resulted in his little fall doesn't strike me as a good idea.

 

His face gets very serious and he tilts his head to one side, like he's deciding my fate.  It's like he's coming to some big decision.  Suddenly, that endearing half-smile of his has replaced the somber one on his lips.  "I suppose from now on, it would be better if we did this in your quarters."

 

The goofy grin that seems to always to burst out whenever Malcolm is around comes back in full force.  Last night, I assumed that he would be more comfortable in his own space.  He was, of that I'm sure, but now it appears that he's willing to try my cabin.  I'll take unintended consequences like Malcolm in my bed any day.

 

"Probably.  Although, I admit that this isn't too bad, either."  Not by a long-shot.  Especially when Malcolm replies by bending down and capturing my mouth in a kiss. 

 

I can feel the fire that starts traveling along every nerve in my body as Malcolm's tongue continues to spar with my own.  Restraint becomes impossible for me as I start to forcefully pull Malcolm even closer.  There is just something about this man.  So quiet and reserved.  So passionately alive.  So tender and witty.  So very mine. 

 

I can't help the urge to touch him everywhere.  I run my hands along his arms and back, relishing the chance to finally explore every inch of Malcolm's compact, muscular body.  It's enticed me for so long and now it's mine.  I'm not letting him go.  Ever.

 

**Beep…beep…beep…**

 

Well, maybe now.  Malcolm seems to have similar sentiments.  His lips cease their assault on mine and I can both feel and hear him mumble something about a "bloody alarm" as he pulls away and gets up to turn off the rather loud and annoying alarm.

 

I decide to get up as well so before Malcolm turns around, I can embrace him from behind and pull him close, wrapping my arms around him.  Resting my head lightly on top of his shoulder, I feel him lean backwards until he trusts me to hold most of his weight.  I love all of the little things he does that remind me of how much he cares.  The little trusting things.

 

"I love you, Malcolm."

 

He sighs contentedly.  Another thing I love.  Relaxed Malcolm.  As odd as it sounds, I can't help feeling satisfied and quite pleased with myself.  I'm the one who got Malcolm to relax. 

 

"And while I do love you, Jon, it's six in the morning.  We should…you should…ummm…"

 

Six?!  I guess Malcolm watching took up a little more time than I thought.  I softly kiss Malcolm on the cheek.  It's so lovable the way he gets all tongue-tied sometimes.  I know what he means.  Unfortunately.  I let go of him reluctantly and start gathering up my clothing that I tossed on the floor and Malcolm picked up and folded last night.  He's still turned away from me so I take the opportunity to check out the boxers-only view of Malcolm from behind.  Better than very nice.  Not good for actually attempting to focus on the daily running of a starship while on duty today, though.  Hopefully, I'm not the only one whose thoughts will be a bit distracted today. 

 

Malcolm is still turned away from me and I can tell by his body position that he's crossed his arms over his chest.  It's almost as if he doesn't want to watch me leave.  Oh, Malcolm…

I'm interrupted from my search for my socks and Malcolm admiration session by a snickering laugh.

 

"Are you ever going to stop checking out my bum?"

 

This time Malcolm isn't the one who's blushing.  Caught, damn it.  How in the world did he know?  Never mind, the answer to my own question can be summed up into two words.  Armory Officer.  Especially when that armory officer happens to be one Malcolm Reed.  I'm suddenly struck by the idea that I might never be able to predict Malcolm or what he's thinking or what he's going to say next.  I'm starting to like that notion the more I think about it. 

 

"Probably not."

 

Malcolm finally turns around and he's giving me that devilish smile of his.  He walks past me and bends down next to the door.  Now's he holding something out towards me.  My socks.

 

With a smile, I unfold my shirt to inspect it.  Slightly wrinkled but it's in far better condition than if it had been left in a heap.  "Thanks for folding my things.  I didn't consider that I'd have to wear them this morning."

 

He simply shrugs his shoulders and gestures towards the small bathroom.  "It's a habit.  You're welcome to use the lavatory to freshen up, if you'd like."

 

Lavatory and freshening up.  There's that prim and proper vocabulary of his, again.  I wonder if it's a byproduct of his schooling or of his upbringing.  Out of the blue, an image of Malcolm as a young boy replaces my Malcolm in front of me.  Posture perfect, not a wrinkle on a drab school uniform, his gray eyes still intense and observant.  I wish I could spend some more time just talking to Malcolm this morning.  I know that this won't be the last time that we're alone but it seems like the longer I'm around him, the less I understand him.  The more of an enigma he becomes.  The more I want to know him.  Ruefully, I shake my head slightly to clear it.  Little Malcolm disappears and once again, my armory officer is standing there looking at me like I'm more than a little mad.  I believe he would probably use the word 'daft'.

 

"I'd appreciate it."  I step towards the bathroom, sneaking in a quick peck on my way past him, and close the door behind me.  Another thing I've forgotten.  Just how much smaller the crew quarters' bathrooms are.  And Malcolm has a single.  My respect for the crew inches up a few more notches past the extraordinary level it's at already.  I'll have to remember to recommend to Starfleet to increase the bathroom sizes just a bit.  It's a good thing Malcolm's as small and graceful as he is.  This is one tiny space.  Yet another perk to being the captain.

 

After using the restroom, I quickly dress myself with the exception of my shoes.  They're still in the main room next to Malcolm's shoes.  I turn the faucet on so I can splash some cold water on my face and run my wet fingers through my hair.  It still looks disheveled, though.  All in all, with the rumpled hair and uniform, it's only mildly obvious that I spent the night in someone else's quarters.  Yep, it's only not obvious to a blind man. 

 

Using the towel that is perfectly folded over the towel rack, I dry my hands off and leave the claustrophobic bathroom.  Malcolm is just putting the finishing touches on making the bed.  It's like a paragon of military precision.  That old belief that you should be able to bounce a quarter on the bed is apparently still running strong in the Reed line of Royal Navy men.  I contemplate for a moment about what Malcolm will think about my long-standing practice of pulling the covers back, straightening out the very noticeable wrinkles, and letting it be.  It'll probably drive him insane.

 

"You don't look very captain-like at the moment, luv."  He's holding out my shoes towards me, which I take, unsure if it's all right to sit on the bed in order to put them on.  Malcolm notices my little problem and with a little chuckle nods toward the bed, indicating that it's okay. 

 

"I don't really want to look captain-like right now." 

 

And I don't.  The moment I walk out his door, the real world begins again.  Our little pocket of our own reality will be gone.  A whole new set of problems will enter it.  I bury the part of my mind that's telling me it won't work in the very back of my thoughts.  The last thing I need right now is its warnings. One thing at a time.  While I sit and bend down to put my shoes on, Malcolm has walked over to the cabinet alongside his bunk.  He pulls a gray short-sleeve shirt out and slips it on over his head, hiding his exquisite upper body, much to my dismay.

 

"I wasn't complaining, Jon.  I was just commenting.  You look like…you."

 

Finishing my task, I stand up and pull Malcolm into my arms for a kiss.  His hands are rougher than before and he's holding me tighter than ever.  It's like he's afraid that this will be the last time we'll do this.  The image of Malcolm standing facing away from me flashes through my mind.  He didn't want to watch me get ready to leave.  I'm now fully aware that I'm not the only one who's worried about the end of our reality. 

 

Gently, I take a step back and reach up to caress Malcolm's face.  There's so much emotion in his eyes.  They're so expressive.  I wonder how I'll ever be able to look over at him, standing stoically at his station, across the bridge without seeing him as he is now.  Open and vulnerable.  I tenderly brush my lips across his.

 

"I love you, Malcolm.  Nothing is going to change that.  I'm not going to leave you."  I whisper this to him.  He's so tense in my arms.  I pull him closer to me until we're wrapped together in a needy embrace.  "I promise."

 

This time, it's him who pulls back.  He grazes a thumb over my lips before lightly kissing them.  "I know, Jon…" His voice breaks a little. It's full of emotion and such a contrast to the calm and steadiness I'm used to from him.  "I love you and I promise you, I'm not going anywhere either.  It's taken me far too long to get here."

 

I remember thinking the same thing earlier about how long it took for Malcolm to let me in.  Halfheartedly, we separate.  Malcolm walks with me to the door.  As my hand reaches out to press the button, he stops me by placing his hand on top of mine. 

 

"Would you like to get together this evening?  I could bring my copy of Ulysses and we could work through it…together."

 

It's a reminder of how our relationship began.  I showed up at his quarters, one lonely night, with a PADD containing Ulysses, a novel that Trip had told me Malcolm had read.  We confessed our mutual feelings that night.  Somehow now, it feels right to continue what began it…us.  A little piece of our personal reality that we can hang on to.  Turning my attention to Malcolm's face, I can tell he's thinking the same thing.  It's weird how instinctively I seem to know him and he seems to know me. 

 

"I'd like that.  How about 8:30 this evening?"

 

He releases my hand and nods.  "Sounds good to me."

 

I give him a quick peck before the doors open and I exit.  A quick glance around proves to me that there is no one in the corridor for the time being.  A lucky break, I suppose.  I'll take every break I can get.  The part of my mind that seems to be questioning everything lately reminds me wonders how long the luck will hold out. 


End file.
